


Sweating Through Your Tongue

by BeautyInChains



Series: Harringrove Prompt Fills [7]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Childhood Trauma, Face-Fucking, Human Furniture, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safeword Use, Safewords, Spanking, d/s dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 00:24:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15473391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautyInChains/pseuds/BeautyInChains
Summary: The thing is, where most people function on a spectrum, Billy does not. He is either desperately in control or desperately out of it. And the latter isn’t pretty. Billy knows it. Can’t quite help it. But he’s been getting better. Steve makes him better. When Billy starts to spiral and feel as though he might fall off the edge of the earth, Steve is there to catch him. To take the reigns and pull him back in.





	Sweating Through Your Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this was a failure of a prompt fill because my poor, lovely prompter requested HOPPINGrove and apparently I cannot read. Maybe the heat is getting to me O.O But I was very fixated on Harringrove and thus the prompt was filled featuring Steve and Billy. Anyhow. Here is Billy using his safe word for the first time. With Steve.
> 
> Please heed the tags. 
> 
> As always, unbeta'd, kudos/comments/con-crit most welcome. I hope that you enjoy.

It’s something they do sometimes. Steve taking control.

The thing is, where most people function on a spectrum, Billy does not. He is either desperately in control or desperately out of it. And the latter isn’t pretty. Billy knows it. Can’t quite help it. But he’s been getting better. Steve _makes_ him better. When Billy starts to spiral and feel as though he might fall off the edge of the earth, Steve is there to catch him. To take the reigns and pull him back in.

It starts small. Steve tossing him a bottle of water after practice or making him a meal when all Billy’s been living off of for days on end are coffee and cigarettes.

The first time he snaps and snarls, “You’re not my fucking mother, Harrington.” And Steve knows that, but he also knows that Billy Hargrove doesn’t know how to ask for help when he needs it, so he pushes the heaping platter of spaghetti toward Billy with his pointer finger and drops a fork down in front of him with an unceremonious clatter.

“ _Eat it_.”

Steve’s tone leaves absolutely no room argument. His footsteps sound loud as he rounds the table, sits across from Billy and digs into his own plate. Steve eats in relative silence, and Billy finds himself zeroing in on the slurp and swallow. On the way Steve’s long, delicate fingers twirl the silver utensil between them. On the way the pasta and bolognese wrap around it. Billy’s stomach grumbles loudly despite himself and Steve’s lips twitch a little at the sound.

“Good boy,” Steve says as Billy brings his fork to his lips. Billy flushes under the praise and spends the rest of their meal with his eyes trained on his plate. Billy eats more in one sitting than he’s eaten in a week. When he’s done Steve nods his head like he’s pleased and cleans up after them.

Later, Steve gathers Billy up into his arms, full and sated, and strokes his hair until they fall asleep watching old re-runs of I Dream of Jeannie.

The sex comes later. And when it does, _fuck_ , it’s better than Billy ever could have imagined.

Billy loves being on his knees for Steve. Loves to lap at the copious amounts of pre, tongue at his pretty, wet slit, and work his way down Steve’s impressive length until he’s choking on it, gagging and sputtering. Loves the way Steve’s fingers tangle in his hair, tugging and pulling. And Steve loves it, too. Loves it when it’s sloppy and wet, when Billy’s got drool running down his chin and tears running down his cheeks.

“Hold your mouth open for me, baby,” Steve says one night, “And don’t move.” Billy does at he’s told, relishes in the way his cock surges at the command. “If you need me to stop I want you to pinch my thigh, you got it?“

And Billy nods, Steve’s fingers pulling at his hair as he does. Billy holds his jaw unhinged, drool pooling on his tongue as Steve feeds his cock back inside. Slowly, inch by torturous inch until Steve’s prodding at the back of his throat. Billy fights to breathe through his nose, fights against his gag reflex and focuses his attention on Steve’s face. The flutter of his lashes and the flush of his cheeks.

“Shh,” Steve soothes, brushing some of Billy’s curls off his sweaty forehead before gripping them to keep Billy in place as he squirms on his knees, “Good boy.”

And Billy _feels_ _good_. He feels light. Steve has him in a way that nobody ever has.

Billy doesn’t have to pinch Steve that night, or in the months that follow. He doesn’t have to pinch Steve or tap the headboard three times. Doesn’t have to say yellow or red, because everything is so _fucking green_. Like choking on Steve’s cock and swallowing his come over and over again until he’s nearly sick to his stomach. Like folding himself over Steve’s lap with his pants around his ankles as Steve’s hand delivers blow after blow until Billy’s certain his ass will be black and blue. Like kneeling on all fours for hours on end with Steve’s long, beautiful legs draped across his back until his core is aching with it.

Red comes later. And when it does, it’s harder than Billy ever could have imagined.

It happens when Steve is balls deep inside him. When Billy’s legs are up and over Steve’s shoulders. When Billy’s clawing at Steve’s back and Steve’s fingers are curled around Billy’s throat. It feels so fucking good, until it _doesn’t_. Until Billy is ten years old and Neil has him up against the wall with his hands wrapped all the way around his neck. Squeezing, squeezing until his vision starts to blur and it hurts and _Dad, please, stop!_

Billy can feel his mouth working to form the words and for one brief, terrifying moment he’s not sure he’ll be able to find his voice beneath Steve’s grip but then it comes, “Red! Red, red, _red_!” and he might be screaming but his voice sounds very far away and so unlike the voice he’s come to know as his own.

Steve’s fingers release instantly. Billy’s knees are eased back down. Steve leans in, presses his forehead firmly against Billy’s, hot and insistent. _Grounding_.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Breathe with me.”

In and out. Billy feels Steve’s diaphragm inflating and deflating against him, lulling him into a predictable rhythm, keeps it going until Billy’s come down enough that his body becomes a mirror. In and out.

“Good boy.”


End file.
